“Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” I hollered,
just bursting from laughter
Less than half of my father's days in the navy were spent at a Combined Operations training base at Comox on Vancouver Island, from January 1944 until the summer of 1945, but he probably ate and slept better on a regular basis during that time than when he was overseas.
1944 alone would have counted as a very big year, in my father's mind, at least for a little while. He travelled west for the first time, got married for the first time, ate his fill of 'monstrous oysters', trained Zombies (new ratings or entries) how to handle a navy cutter and organized a few boat races. But getting make to civvie street in the fall of '45 would have brought him back to earth.
In his hometown paper, about fifty years later, he wrote the following:
At Comox, right close to our barracks was a government breeding ground for oysters. I never knew of such a thing and didn’t care particularly as all I had eyes for were those monstrous oysters which showed up when the tide went out. I wasn’t alone, believe me.
["Giant oysters, BC-style"]
As the tide ebbed at night we once again borrowed the Captain’s dinghy and a few burlap bags and rowed out to the oyster bed. We climbed out of the dinghy into the horrible muck, filled our burlap bags and paddled away before the tide left us aground. These choice oysters were dumped into the sea out of sight behind the barracks, thereby assuring us of our own private oyster supply. We ate most of them raw; salt water and a bit of sand didn’t matter too much and a good slap on the back was required most times to help swallow them. Wonderful!
["Photo of 14-man cutter at matthewwestfall blog"]
I acted as Coxswain on large navy cutters as soldiers worked the oars. The cutters were 27 feet long and wide enough (except at the bows) to seat four men, two men to an oar. This was fun, getting the proper stroke amongst 18 green oarsmen. If the rhythm was wrong and an oar caught a crab (got stuck in the water), the effect was that nearly every thwart was cleared of oarsmen and bedlam prevailed.
“Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” I hollered, just bursting from laughter. The oars are about 12 feet long and are they ever heavy. To give the soldiers a well-earned rest I would give the order “Rest oars.” Then the oars would be pulled in, rested on each side of the cutter, and the soldiers could rest their weary arms on the looms for awhile.
["Small crew tosses oars in this old photo"]
I enjoyed giving the order to ‘toss oars’. With this the huge oars were brought from the water and as quickly as possible tossed up in the air, and of course the water came pouring down from the blades in a regular storm for a minute and everyone got soaked to the hide, including me, but on a hot day it was refreshing. I was longing for a swim anyway.
There were several cutters with soldiers and with experience we began to have races. The competition was a good thing and a real esprit de corp developed within the teams. The races were close, the blisters were soon forgotten and the training became enjoyable as some fun was injected into it.
Years later, even months later, he realized how thankful he was to be alive and well when V-E Day was finally celebrated at Comox.
More to follow.
Top photo by GH
More Dad's Navy Days
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